


Roots

by cicatrix (nematode)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fantasy Weed, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, happy 4/20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematode/pseuds/cicatrix
Summary: Bull watches as Lavellan plucks the smoking roll of herbs up and brings it to his lips. The drag he takes is long and lifts his back into an arch as he holds it in for a few seconds. And then he shuts his eyes and exhales, leaving a pillar of smoke to rise in the air as he lays back on the grass. He looks relaxed in a way Bull has only seen him after a couple hours in the bedroom.“Needed to clear your head?”“That's not possible and you know it.”---Lavellan asks his bodyguard/friend/fuck-buddy/potential lover to keep watch while he gets stoned. They hang out under the stars and talk about where they come from.





	Roots

“Bull, you're my bodyguard, right?”

Well, there goes his peaceful night. Whatever scheme has dragged Lavellan to his tent, bashful and hands tucked deep in his pockets, is bound to be horrifically dangerous or conniving as hell. Or both. The best schemes are both.

Like that time Lavellan had seen a Dalish artifact on the mantle of a _very_ important diplomat's fireplace during a friendly dinner meeting. And then told Bull that night that they had to sneak back in and steal it without fracturing their newly formed alliance.

It had been remarkably successful. Josephine later darkly warned them that the diplomat's most recent letter asked the Inquisition to please be on the lookout for some treasure that had mysteriously gone missing around the time of their visit. But who would dare accuse the Inquisitor, the soft-spoken elf with an army behind him, of something so petty?

So Bull's interest is peaked. Even if it's likely to end with him getting a tragic amount of sleep.

“That's what you pay me for, Boss.”

Lavellan gives him a small smile and inclines his head, long hair falling over his shoulder and eyes a little wider than usual, coy as a mabari wanting second-helpings.

“And you're my friend, right?”

Okay, _now_ the warning bells go off in Bull's head, even as a different sort of interest peaks in him. This is either going to end with the camp on fire, or Bull too drained to even move his legs. A whole lot of fun either way.

“Sure, Boss. A friend you occasionally have really great sex with.”

“...Yes,” Lavellan mutters, turning his face back to the flap of the tent, but his ears betray the enticing shade of pink his skin turns. “Okay, come with me.”

Lavellan leads them away from camp, casual with his pace. Under a surprisingly clear sky for the Storm Coast, Bull follows him up a hill that's just out of view of camp.

Promising.

Lavellan lowers himself to the grass and crosses his legs. He's dropped the facade of strength and poise, looking instead like what's left of a man chewed up and spat out by a day full of fighting for your life and scaling wet cliffs.

“You can sit, Bull.” Lavellan pats the ground next to him, an invitation that Bull happily accepts. “I just need you to keep watch.”

“Damn, so you weren't luring me out here for sex?”

The corner of Lavellan's mouth twitches up. “Tempting. Not tonight, though.” He shrugs his pack off his shoulder, unlatches it, and then roots around in it before pulling out something dark and just slightly bigger than his hand. “Look what I found earlier." 

Lavellan holds his palm up to Bull's face. Turns out it's just a few sprigs of herbs, which is both disappointing and entirely expected for Lavellan to be excited about. It smells like one of Stitches' potions, the bitter and earthy scent instinctively making him relax.

“Embrium?”

“Yes, but not _just_ that.” Lavellan starts rolling the bundle of herbs between his hands, crushing their leaves together. “There's also – hmm. I'm not sure if there's a common name for it, but we call it Dirthamen's Lotus. Pretty rare.”

He then digs out a piece of parchment from his bag. “On its own, it's nothing special. But with Embrium... well, they have a _particular_ reaction.”

With long, precise fingers, Lavellan starts rolling the herbs in the parchment, pinching here and there until it forms a tight little tube.

Bull chuckles. So maybe it's not as interesting as some illicit plot or a rough fuck against a tree, but it's definitely the easiest scheme Lavellan has ever dragged him off for. A night off would probably be good for him – the night air is crisp and soothes his tired muscles.

Besides, he's more than a little curious to see how elves escape the mind for a bit. Bull's seen a lot of indulgences across cultures over the years, but alcohol's remained his one tried and true vice. Everything else had been too unpredictable – there's no saying what weeds of the earth will unravel a spy's tongue.

Lavellan holds the cigarette gently between his boots and then starts flicking a shard of flint against one of his knives. It takes a few tries, but he gets a spark quicker than most people could in the damp air of the coast. With the herbs ignited, Bull can smell a spiciness that definitely isn't Embrium – it burns his nostrils in the same way Seheron food always would.

Bull watches as Lavellan plucks the smoking roll of herbs up and brings it to his lips. The drag he takes is long and lifts his back into an arch as he holds it in for a few seconds. And then he shuts his eyes and exhales, leaving a pillar of smoke to rise in the air as he lays back on the grass. He looks relaxed in a way Bull has only seen him after a couple hours in the bedroom.

“Needed to clear your head?”

“That's not possible and you know it.”

Bull lies down as well, content to just listen as Lavellan takes another slow inhale next to him. If Lavellan wants him to literally live up to his title and just guard his body while he drifts off, Bull has no complaints.

“You know, my Keeper said I got the wrong vallaslin,” Lavellan says as if he's picking up some earlier conversation Bull had happened to miss. “Said Andruil's would have been better.”

Bull's got no idea what brought this up, hardly understands the importance of it in the first place. But whatever road led to this thought in Lavellan's head, it's obviously been a long one.

“Goddess of the hunt. They started drilling her teachings into me ever since I was old enough to hold a bow. Or really, once I was old enough that they were sure I wasn't going to be the new First.” He pauses, tracing the lines above his cheekbones that he must know by heart. “Fly straight and do not waver, bend but never break...”

“Catchy. Didn't sit right?”

“Does it sound like me?”

“Sounds like the Inquisitor.”

Lavellan nods firmly, like he's just witnessed Bull land a perfect shot. “Exactly.”

“So what'd you go with then?”

“June. God of Craft.” Lavellan laughs at himself. “I got hundreds of needles stuck in my face to honor the god of fucking needlework.” He keeps laughing, and it's infectious enough that even Bull cracks a smile.

“Why though? Come on, you must've had _some_ reason.”

“Why? Hmm.” Lavellan's eyes slip shut. In the minute of silence, Bull is half-convinced he's either fallen asleep or forgotten the question. “They're meant to honor the god you'd like to watch over you, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I'm already pretty good at hunting and... all that stuff I said. So I went with what I was _bad_ at.”

“Sewing?”

“Definitely. No, it's like – there aren't a lot of stories about June, but there's this one. They said the elves were wandering around, scared and starving. And naked, weirdly.”

Lavellan pauses. Bull can't recall ever having heard one of these legends straight from a Dalish elf – it's always been through some other lens, usually some story from a Tamassran about why the elves so desperately needed the Qun. He'd served with a couple of elves in Seheron, sure, but just like Lavellan they were a long way from home and eager to remain “civilized” in the watchful eyes of the people surrounding them. Bull is almost surprised when Lavellan continues, voice gone soft and distant.

“And then June showed up and taught them how to make things, how to fend for themselves.” Bull sees the smoldering tip of the cigarette rise up out of the corner of his eye. “He brought a world beyond what they knew, but then left the rest up to them. Didn't just come in, dump a bunch of shit on them, and tell them how to live.”

“Huh.”

“I always liked that.” Lavellan snorts, before his voice drops down to a mock-whisper. “Plus, I secretly thought Andruil's looked dumb.”

“Now, _that_ sounds more like you.” Bull turns to look at Lavellan, who looks like he's trying to hold a stream of giggles in. “Wait, fuck. Did you just insult the god of hunting? Please don't tell me we're gonna have to live off plants from now on.”

“Hope you like berries, Bull.”

Bull gets the feeling Lavellan has gotten a weight off his chest, even if he's not sure exactly what it was. It's the sort of thing that he'd have kept track of before, picked apart until he had a little kernel of information to report. A potential weakness that he'd pretend wouldn't eventually be used to tear the Inquisition apart.

Now, he just listens to Lavellan breathe.

“So, what do your horns mean?”

“Well, it's not like I chose them. Didn't pick 'em out of a basket and glue them to my head.”

“Oh. Yeah. Huh.” Lavellan chuckles, stops, and then laughs again even harder, like he's forgotten the image for a second before it comes back for an encore. “That's not fair, you've got to tell me _something_. We've got sayings about different ear shapes like, shaping your personality.”

“Really? Are yours for little minxes who ask a lot of questions?”

“Yes. That is exactly what they – ” Lavellan interrupts his own deadpan delivery with a snicker. “Come on. What do your horns mean?”

“Big dick.”

Bull grins wide enough to bare his teeth at Lavellan, who's curled over on his side laughing, one hand covering his mouth. Bull decides he likes whatever this herb blend is, enjoying the way it opens Lavellan up, turns a usually restrained grin into a gasping laughter streak.

Lavellan wipes the tears from the edges of his eyes before raising his eyebrows. “Trust me, I know _that._ Anything else?”

“Alright, well, it's not much. But some people say straight horns means you're... straightforward. You tell it like it is. Curved horns hide their secrets close.”

“Hmm.” Lavellan turns his head to blow a cloud of spicy smoke towards the sky, but then stays curled over to face Bull. Bull doesn't know how he can look so comfortable, limbs melting into the soil like it's an Orlesian mattress. “So why did they name you Hissrad? Liar, right?”

“I – yeah. You remember that, huh?”

“I remember _everything_.”

“You hardly remember Blackwall exists sometimes." 

“Well, I remember people I _like_.” He reaches out and taps Bull on the nose. It's alarming what that does to Bull's heartbeat. “Stop avoiding the subject.”

“Yeah, yeah. Who better to turn into Ben-Hassrath than someone who looks so damn trustable?”

“I don't know. You _were_ always straightforward with me. What kind of spy comes out and says they are one outright?”

“Hah. The best spies can gather secrets from right under your nose.” This time, Bull swipes up on Lavellan's nose, earning wide eyes and a bewildered look that dissolves into delighted laughter. 

Once it dies down, which is several seconds longer than natural, Lavellan readjusts his head so that it lies on his elbow. “You know, I never actually read the reports you'd send back up. Left that to Leliana, mostly.”

“Yeah, they were mostly coded anyway.”

It doesn't seem to surprise Lavellan at all. Bull knows for a fact that Leliana had warned Lavellan a thousand times over to keep Bull away from the important stuff. Didn't make a difference then, doesn't matter now.

Lavellan blinks slowly, only managing to lift his eyelids enough to keep them half-open. “So what's the craziest thing you told them about us?”

“That you're afraid of spiders.”

Lavellan gasps and reaches over to swat at Bull's arm. “ _Traitor_. How could you?” He moans, covers his face with his palms. “Now they're going to send a ship full of spiders to get revenge on me!”

“Sorry, Boss. I'll smush 'em for you.”

After another few minutes of silence and smoke, Lavellan starts to shift. Every movement takes him longer than usual, but he manages to push himself up to a slumped sitting position. Bull had worried earlier that he'd eventually need to hold down an inebriated Inquisitor to keep him from trying to – climb a tree, or something. But Lavellan scoots himself closer to Bull, and even that looks like a long journey for him.

Bull can't help the warmth that builds in his chest when Lavellan lays his head on it, hair splaying out across his torso. Lavellan sinks back down, keeping the back of his head anchored on Bull as the rest of his limbs come to rest on the grass.

Looking mightily content with his new position, Lavellan lifts his hand to take another drag of the herbs. With his face so close, Bull can see Lavellan's long ears twitch up as he breathes in, and then droop down as he exhales. And maybe it's the exhaustion. Maybe the fumes are having more of an effect on him than he thought. But Bull finds it fucking adorable.

He suddenly really wants to scratch behind those ears, wonders just how much of a melted mess he can turn Lavellan into. He nearly laughs at himself for the ridiculous urge. Varric would probably start counting his riches if he could see into the thoughts that Bull just can't keep out of his head.

When Lavellan finally opens his eyes, he looks to the sky. A tiny smile, like he's hiding some secret, graces his face.

“Hey. What do you think the stars are?”

“Uh... stars?”

“No, like... what are they? Why are they up there?” 

The best way to keep Lavellan floating through this cheery mood is to humor him, Bull figures. He hums and scratches his chin. “Haven't looked at it much, but I've heard there's some Qunari scholars doing research into that. See if they're some sort of light source we can harness.” 

“Okay. But what do _you_ think?”

In the moonlight, Lavellan stares at Bull with huge pupils, half-obscured under heavy lids. Bull's instinct is to lie, to say it doesn't concern him and he's never thought about it beyond that research. He knows Lavellan wouldn't be able to pick up on the minuscule increase in his heart rate if he did make something up, but Lavellan looks at him like he wants nothing more than a little glimpse into his head, and he oddly doesn't feel much like lying.

“They're...” He swallows. “I was told once that they're... markers. Planted by the ancient dragons to guide each other through the skies. A big ol' dragon map.”

Lavellan's eyes light up and he flashes Bull a grin. “I like that.”

“Okay, your turn.”

“Hmm. I don't know about other clans, but mine – they said they're holes in the veil. Little windows from the Fade.”

Bull gives him an exaggerated scowl, which Lavellan just laughs at. “Ugh, I hope not. You sayin' we're always being watched by demons?”

“Probably.” Lavellan sticks his tongue out. “What would they think of me right now?”

“A powerful elf stretched thin and desperately needing some escape? Probably pretty tasty.”

“Bull, demons don't _eat_ people.”

“You sure?”

Lavellan tilts his head back, eyes wide like the idea has never occurred to him. Bull watches his brows clench and relax as he seriously ponders the thought. “Nope.”

Twisting and fiddling, Lavellan's fingers raise the cigarette up above his face. He stares at the smoldering orange tip, following its little circles with wonder. Bull gently grabs his wrist and moves it down a touch, just in time for some ash to fall on Lavellan's chest instead of directly in his eyes.

“Want any?” 

Bull brushes the cinders off Lavellan's jacket with two quick sweeps of his palm. “Nah. Someone's got to watch over you.” 

Bull wonders if this is the point when he should put a stop to this, take the Inquisitor back and tuck him into his bedroll with a full canteen of water. Even he's starting to feel the pull of sleep, now that the only thing he has to keep his body up is his duty to keep his eye on the very sleepy man on his chest.

The sound of waves crashing against distant cliffs nearly covers up Lavellan's whisper. “Who watches over you though?”

Lavellan doesn't seem to notice that Bull's breath stops for several seconds or that he never answers.

The silence carries on. Lavellan's eyes slip shut. Bull tells his restraint to take a break for the night and gives in to the urge to set his hand on the crown of Lavellan's head. When he gets a tilt of the neck and a happy little sigh, he starts combing through Lavellan's hair and rubbing his scalp with a slow, gentle rhythm.

Lavellan doesn't open his eyes, just serenely mumbles, “Do you want a blowjob?”

Bull chuckles as he brushes a thumb up Lavellan's ear. “Nah, you said no earlier, remember? Also, you'd probably just fall asleep midway through.” 

“Mmm, yeah.”

Right on cue, Lavellan's head starts to lilt to the side, and Bull feels a steady, slow cycle of warm breaths fall on his chest. Bull plucks the smoking roll from between Lavellan's fingers before they go slack enough to drop it. He crushes it into the soil, leaving only a scent of spice and bitter earth in the air.

In another time, Bull would just drift off with him. It's a good night for it – the air is cool but not likely to drop to freezing temperatures. Lavellan wouldn't complain. There's been a few times already when Bull's gone up to his room in the early mornings and found him lounging on a perfectly made bed, while a messy roll of blankets sits on his balcony.

But this isn't the Dales, and there aren't the well-enforced walls of Skyhold to protect them, so Bull scoops Lavellan up onto his back and settles his loose arms around Bull's neck.

As he starts walking back to camp, Lavellan's head finally stirs on his shoulder. “Don't tell anyone about this, okay?” 

“'Course not. Teach me what that herb looks like and I'll even keep my eye out for it.”

“You're the best,” Lavellan mutters into his ear, words slurred with sleep. “You're just... so amazing. Gods, I like you _so_ much.”

It takes an awkward twist of the head, but Bull's able to turn and place a light kiss on Lavellan's lips. Lavellan smiles into it, his whole body relaxing with a content sigh.

It's the first kiss they share outside of the bedroom – or, well, outside of sex, since there's not always a bed involved for that. 

Bull can't help but hope that it happens again.


End file.
